


Mum's The Word

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Humor, Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After some prompting from Scout, Miss Pauling pulls some strings and organizes a mother's day gathering on an abandoned base with some of the mercenaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mum's The Word

**Author's Note:**

> For alexthemia, who asked for a gathering of mercenary mothers for mother's day. Milly is Female Sniper, the unnamed girl is a female Scout.
> 
> near the end it wanted to turn into Engineer, his mother and Pyro do Ghostbusters, but those scenes never made it in. I guess I have to write that now.

The door to her office opened, and she looked up. Seeing him here wasn't much of a surprise; he'd use any excuse to come and see her. Scout leaned against the wall, looking her over. He'd grown in, lately. Taller and more muscled around the middle, like he'd been training specifically, and she knew it wasn't for his job. She looked up, her pen poised over a document. He was too busy looking at her to see her latest top-secret kill order.

"Hey, I got a favor to ask."

Before she could respond, he pulled out a letter and pushed it onto her desk, smudging the ink of the papers she'd been working on. His handwriting was something straight out of kindergarten, with large, swooping letters that shook and trailed off, leaving them almost illegible. There were food stains on the corner margins.

"This is—for me?" she said. She had to squint to try and read the lettering, especially though the chilli-dog red splotch. After many years of working at TF Industries, she'd learned to decipher even the messiest handwriting, though Scout challenged her abilities on numerous occasions.

"What? No, no, god no, it's for my ma. I ain't goin' to be writin' any sissy _love letters—_ " He stopped abruptly in his tirade to glance over her. "—Unless _you're_ into love letters. Then I guess they ain't _that_ bad—"

She spoke over him, before he got carried away. "–It's a mother's day letter, correct?"

"Yeah. Well, that's part of it. I couldn't get out to make a card in time, so I had to improvise."

He'd pulled apart what looked like was part of magazines—possibly skin ones, considering that it was hardly _fashion journals_ passed around the mercenary base—and pasted them messily on the back of the letter.

"Listen, I missed both Christmas and Thanksgivin' due to work. My ma is seriously pissed at me, if I miss Mother's day, it'll just kill her. I tried talkin' to some people, but nobody is willin' to step up. I'd rather talk to you anyways—can you do somethin' about it? Please? Seriously, I'll owe you one."

Like many things at TF Industries, holidays were a thing which had to be wrested from their employers, preferably with physical force. Heavy had the force to battle Saxton Hale for his days off. It'd been quite an epic battle—Scout had even thought to sell popcorn to the other mercenaries and workers who came around.

But Scout couldn't exactly go in an arm wrestling match and come back with anything but ripped-off arms. Saxton Hale didn't allow for changing them up for things like races, so he was pretty much stuck on base.

It was outside of her code of ethics to favor any single mercenary, she knew this well. She also knew just how hard it had been on Scout to be separated from his family for so long. She folded the paper up, and mentally calculated just how many last minute flights she'd have to arrange. 

If she did it for all of them, it wasn't favoring a single one, after all. She was simply keeping a grip on her humanity. She might even be able to spin it somehow. Some kind of promotion on mother's day—though that'd have to be for next year. Not even she could pull a complete advertising campaign out in three days.

"You'll owe me for this," she said.

He grinned. "I knew you could do it, Miss P!"

*

She dialed the phone number, hoping that for once, he hadn't made some of the many unexpected adventures. It wouldn't do to have her last contact be wrong, with him deciding to suddenly fight wild lions in the plains of Africa.

But, to her relief, she heard his booming voice over the phone.

"Miss Pauling! Good to hear from you!"

"I have to report some troubling news, sir," Miss Pauling said.

"What? Is it _the hippies?_ "

"Yes, it's the hippies, sir. They've set up shop near the main power supply—I believe they're starting some sort of non-violent protest in support of petting zoos—"

"Non-violence? _Petting zoo?_ _**This cannot stand!**_ When I get ahold of them, I'll make the bombing of Woodstock look like _a kitchen fire!_ "

"Make sure to punch extra hard," she said.

She heard a crash of glass, the phone slammed against the desk, just missing the cradle, and the sound of Bidwell calling out futilely after him, and then sighing.

She'd have to send him some chamomile tea to soothe his nerves when this was all over. Under the hidden guise of something entirely more manly, as Saxton Hale didn't stand for tea drinking in his presence.

Saxton Hale remained the one person who the Administrator refused to punish, no matter what trouble he got into. She might demand he repay for lost time, but she wouldn't have him executed.

Some might say she had a soft spot for him, however, whether they'd live if they said it to her face was questionable if they would survive the hour.

*

In the end, she scheduled them all brought here, instead of trying to get enough permits to have the mercenaries have that much leave of absence. A few hours was easier than an entire day, which would likely end with her having to cover up some explosion and bury some new bodies. In the break that Saxton Hale's break had caused, she called up the ones she could get ahold of, whose sons weren't already visiting.

And that was how she ended up here in a haunted mansion with several mercenaries and family.  
She led a motley group on deeper into the abandoned Mann manor. Heavy and Medic had gone abroad, having won their rights to actual vacations via a particularly bloody matches with Saxton Hale. Well, to be fair, Heavy had fought twice. While he was a surprisingly loyal friend, none of the other men seemed willing to let Heavy champion them—or he hadn't offered. She didn't quite know the details.

Soldier had guard duty. Well, at least she'd _convinced_ him that guard duty for the sake of American patriotism would probably win him medals. Soldier could make chaos far more than even Scout, who at least usually behaved somewhat when she and his mother were around. He also had a nasty little habit of killing people with little warning, and the last thing she needed was to have him lash out at one of the other mercenaries' mothers. That was just not the sort of thing she could spin, doctor, or cover up.

Spy had come along as well, though with no mother in tow, only Scout's mother on his arm. Even Miss Pauling didn't know anything about Spy's family....or background, or anything except for his taste in suits and women.

Which left Scout, Demoman, Sniper, Engineer and Pyro, who had come along for the ride.

Speaking of which—some of them refused to stay in line, and rushed again. And for once, it wasn't just Scout.

"Mum—" Demoman protested.

"I don't need help," she said. "I've been a Demolitions expert all my life, and I lost _both_ my eyes long before I hit thirty! I certainly don't need this—seeing eye dog you've got for me—"

There was a chattering as Lt. Bites chomped at his leash.

"Seeing-eye raccoon," Demoman said.

"Raccoon, dog, same difference!"

Demoman's mother was stooped over, and headed straight towards a particularly large crack in the dark, pitted wood floor. Lt. Bites leapt over the hole, and Demoman's mother followed, surprisingly spry for her age. Miss Pauling wouldn't underestimate her again, that was for sure.

There were several old portraits hung on the walls. The comical 'eyes that followed' was so cliche, Miss Pauling was fairly sure it had more to do with a drunken Saxton Hale and certain mechanically inclined mercenaries playing pranks.

The eyes jerked back to watch the racoon who was now chittering and staring up at it.

Pretty sure, anyways.

"So, it's funny, the whole thing is broken, so we get the day off. Ain't that great, ma?" Scout said.

"Of course, sweetie. I'm glad to see you," she said.

Scout was apparently so relieved to see his mother today that he didn't even protest the pet names.

Scout's mother was looped with Spy's arm as they walked. "You say this place is really haunted, huh? Oh, I remember it last time, but it's really somethin'—"

"With the occasional murderous Headless Horseman. He doesn't come out during the day, but if he did, he would never even get a chance to touch you."

There was an intensity to his voice, and Scout's mother let out a schoolgirl sigh. "Oh, you're so _brave._ "

Scout glowered at them both. "Jeez, step off! It's mother's day, not slimy friggin' spook day."

"I wanted to be with two of my favorite boys in the world today. Is that so hard to understand?"

He rolled his eyes. " _I'm_ your favorite boy, now get rid of the jerk and I'll take you out for a nice dinner."

"Now, don't you sass me. This is _my_ day, and my sweetheart is coming along as well. It's what I want as my gift—all of you around."

Scout snickered at this. "'Sweetheart?' Yeah, I bet all the guys will be callin' you that at work, _Spy_."

_"Liam Patrick Dempsey—"_

Spy touched her shoulder. "No, chérie. I am not offended. It's his jealousy—he can't stand it that he hasn't got anyone. It causes him to act out." Spy smirked at the last part, but Scout's mother missed the pointed jab.

Scout's puffed his cheeks out petulantly, Spy's jab had hit home.

"I—I could have somebody! I just don't wanna tie myself down so quick. I'm only friggin' twenty-three, it's way too soon to settle down."

"No fighting—" Miss Pauling said.

"Now, no fighting—" Scout's mother said.

They paused, both caught in the same exact scolding.

"Heh, it's a Jinx," Scout said with a grin.

"You look far too happy for someone who's being ganged up on," Spy said.

Scout shrugged. "I can't help it, I ain't been yelled at by ma in at least a week."

Engineer's Mother piped up. "You could record a scolding, to have him replay it later. That's how my Dell got through his first PHD."

Engineer nodded. "I got tons of tapes out there."

"Ahem, we need to keep moving," Miss Pauling said. She motioned them on deeper into the mansion. She didn't even have to wonder if it was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea, but it wasn't the worst thing the mercenaries had gotten her into, so she took comfort in that.

"Dell, there is a structural compromise in that room there," Engineer's mother said.

"I've tried to fix it, but the ghosts keep eatin' it away. I'm tryin' to make myself a ghost resistant field, but I ain't got the time to test it these days."

"Send me the blueprints and I'll get your father. Together we should finish a prototype in a couple months. It's been years since we had a family ghost huntin'..."

She trailed off with a nostalgic smile which softened her lined face. She was pear shaped with thick white hair which escaped from her ponytail like an Einstein wig. She had cokebottle glasses, and even thicker goggles around her neck.

The party was quickly going nowhere good; she'd have to corral them into some semblance of order before Spy and Scout ended up killing each other _again_. Knowing them, Demoman, Engineer and Sniper might even be pulled into the fray, and it would hardly be a good mother's day presents to see their son's bloodied corpses as they fought to the death.

"The party is this way," Miss Pauling said. She guided the rest towards the library, which was fairly free of haunting and bats.

"A real live ghost house? Well, I've never been in one of those! I was just tellin' Peony Jones—you remember her, Mick dear? The lady down the way with that lovely little ranch."

Sniper nodded.

"Well, her daughter has a friend who is a ghost hunter! And Milly called, she wonders when you're going to come back for hunting. You two used to go all over the outback."

"We're not gettin' married, mum. She's like a sister to me," Sniper said.

While he argued with his father, sometimes hard enough to break the phone in a fit of anger, his manner with his mother was downright gentle. He towered over her short, chubby form, and Despite the drastic difference in height between them, he would slump just to hear her better and meet her gaze.

"Oh, I know, but it was worth a shot. You two used to hunt so well together, always bringin' back crocodiles and once she boxed with a kangaroo! I want to see you settle down so much, dear," Sniper's mother said.

"Good luck with that. I told Tavish to continue the family line, and he brought back a _talkin' sword._ Well, that and a charming young soldier with many medals, and several raccoons which live in the place, but I still don't have a grandchild."

"I reckon it'd be easier just to build Dell a proper girl. I don't think he'd go for any girl without a turret in her chest."

"At this rate I'll _look like a grandmother_ by the time I have any grandbabies," Scout's mother said with a sigh.

"I'm _tryin'_ , ma!" Scout protested.

"You'd never look matronly, chérie," Spy said.

"Oh, you're a sweet talker," Scout's mother said with a happy sigh.

"More like a lyin' asshole," Scout muttered. However, attempts at whispering, muttering or other attempts to talk under his breath always ended up being more than loud enough for everyone in the room to hear—if not some of the populace of Teufort as well.

"Be nice," Scout's mother said. "You used to like him just fine before. Can't you be nice like that to him again?"

Scout scrunched up his nose. "That was before I found out the guy was messin' with _you_ ," Scout said.

"Now, now—"

"Ma––"

"We're here!" Miss Pauling spoke over them with forced levity.

A round table had been brought in, with several chairs. A blue and white checkerboard cloth was spread over the table, with a matching tiny blue and white china set with little etched flowers on it.

With Demoman, it looked like toy chairs. She could only imagine what would've happened had Heavy came along. Sniper's knees were about up to his chin.

On second thought, she probably should've had someone other than herself to test the chair sizes.

Scout leaned his chair back on two legs, his knees against the table and keeping it up.

"How many times do I have to tell you to not do that? You're goin' to crack your head on the floor all over again, just like the hundreds of other times you done it."

"Tons," Scout said. He grinned at her, and she shook her head. 

"I swear, you exist just to give me gray hairs. Miss Pauling, did I ever tell you about the time he went 'flyin'?"

"No," Miss Pauling said.

"'look ma, I'm flyin'!" she mimicked his voice quite well. "Flyin' right off the top of the roof, that is. Five years old, and the minute I look away, he's climbing up the wall and I'm havin' to run him to the hospital for downin' my entire bottle of Southern Comfort.

Engineer's mother had abandoned all pretenses of the party, and gone to admire the books, and Engineer himself had come along. She doubted they'd be the only ones; if Medic had been there, he probably would've figured out how to create an army of zombie doves before the tea had cooled. 

Demoman lifted up her teacup before Miss Pauling could pour. 

"She takes it special," he said. He pulled out a silver flask and poured a good deal into her cup. He then didn't bother to actually put any tea inside the cup before giving it to her.

"Ah...Scottish tea. Your father used to make wonderful Scottish tea," she said.

She pushed back a shot and drank it in one gulp. Demoman refilled it. Lt. Bites pushed his little hands into a Demoman's mother's cup and licked his fingers. He buried his face into it, and licked at the Scottish tea until it was too shallow to drink any longer. He let out a long belch and chittered as he flopped down beside the tea pot.

"Why is the firecracker here anyways?" Scout said. He pulled back as Pyro peered down at him.

"He isn't bringing anyone, but he followed us here, so..." Miss Pauling trailed off. Sniper and Engineer nodded from their place at the bookcase. Pyro left alone meant new fires in Teufort, and last time the entire town had almost burnt down. Soldier was hardly a good guardian—he'd probably help Pyro set the fires.

"That's 'cause he hatched out of a friggin' volcano," Scout said. He leaned back, his face twisting as Pyro sat down right near him. He attempted to cover his fear with a laugh, but didn't entirely succeed. "He ain't human, he's some kind of demon dragon in a rubber suit."

"If that's true, Dell, then we've got many tests to run," Engineer's mother said.

"Scout's just bellyachin' as usual."

Engineer's mother looked disappointed.

"Don't set the table on fire," Miss Pauling said. 

"Hudda!"

She held out her hand and cleared her throat. Pyro's shoulders drooped as he put a lighter in her hand. She cleared her throat, and out came matches, cooking fuel, hairspray, a large flamethrower, a smaller flamethrower, a flare gun, a road flare, and some trippy art which could only have been made by hippies.

Engineer's mother looked over her shoulder, and smiled. She had far more laugh lines than frown lines.

"Dell, your friend is well-armed," Engineer's mother said.

Engineer nodded proudly. "I built those flamethrowers myself. Come on, Pyro. Why don't you help us sort through these books? You can meet my mama better."

"Mmmfa," Pyro said. He pushed the chair back, much to Scout's relief, and jogged over to the bookcase.

In all this time, she hadn't sat down. Too busy keeping order. Scout none-too-subtly patted the chair that Pyro had vacated. 

"You should sit down a sec, your feet have got to be _achin'_ , I can't imagine walkin' this far in those heels.

She sat next to him, and smoothed down her skirts. At the very least, she could keep him and Spy from fighting again. He pushed his knee against hers, but she didn't push away from the warmth of contact. 

So, Miss P, why ain't your ma here?" Scout said. He leaned in towards the table, attempting to look seductive and cool, but only managed to look like his eyebrows were doing a banjo solo.

Miss Pauling tried to imagine her mother huddled in a broken-down, haunted house with some unwashed hired killers and their equally vicious mothers. Charity dinners and socialite functions were far more her thing.. She wasn't the kind of woman to ever get her hands dirty.

"She's very busy this time of year," Miss Pauling said. 

"Oh, I don't blame her. I'm just so busy these days," Scout's mother said. "But if you give me her number, maybe I can help, chat a bit—"

Spy took her hand and kissed it.

Scout's face twisted in disgust. At this rate, Miss Pauling was fairly sure that the only reason Spy was here was to tease Scout. He'd certainly found plenty of other days to run off with Scout's mother. The thought of keeping him on a tether at TF Industries was laughable; he could disappear into any shadow, and had grown quite adept at faking surveillance tape.

"How is everyone?" Miss Pauling piped up before Scout could see. At the sound of her voice, he stopped paying his mother or Spy any heed at all. He perched in mid-air, watching her with intensity and somehow managing not to fall over. It wasn't the first time Scout had flagrantly defied gravity, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Cold. The company's choice of party areas are seriously lacking. They take us to a good haunted house place and don't even schedule a ghost hunt? What kind of company wastes an opportunity like that?" Demoman's mother slapped her walking staff on the table hard enough to make the cups rattle.

"I'll get ye more tea, mum," Demoman said. He took a swig himself, and poured some for his mother, as Lt. Bites chittered and bit at the walking stick.

"Oh, I'm just fine. Shearin' season keeping us busy, is all, and your father misses you so much, Micky dear."

Sniper shook his head ruefully, and held out his cup for some Scottish tea. Demoman was happy to oblige. 

"There's this one city planner who's just drivin' me nuts. Wants to tear down my entire neighborhood," Scout's mother said. 

"If you need troublesome people taken care of, chérie, or bodies disposed of, you know my number," Spy said in a low, husky voice. Scout's mother giggled like a schoolgirl. 

Miss Pauling saw the beginnings of the next fight already. At this rate, it'd take something like pouring ice water on her clothes to keep him distracted, and she wasn't about to do something that disorderly just to keep Scout out of trouble. Spy smirked, as he kissed Scout's mother's hand, Scout's fist curling in anger, Demoman's mother's cup slammed against the table. Keeping the mercenaries from killing each other and other people when off duty often felt like she was working the wires in a bomb: any wrong move and it could quite literally blow up in her face.

It was Demoman's mother who spoke first.

"Any proper Demolitions expert worth their salt knows that if you do it right, there's nothin' left to bury."

"Ey, ey, _I_ can bury the bodies just fine! I been doin' it since I was in friggin' middle school—besides, you'd get your precious frickin' suit dirty! So you can just go hang out in a laundromat, or somethin'," Scout said. 

Far be it from girlish laughter, a frightening calm had come over Scout's mother. "Now, you're _both_ going to be burying bodies when I'm done with you— _your own._ "

This quieted Scout for only a petulant second, before he burst out again. "Yeah, well—Miss Pauling is better than both of us! _Her shallow graves are like a friggin' work of art!_ "

Miss Pauling sighed inwardly. Leave it to Scout to make a ruckus.

Scout's mother looked up at her appreciatively. "Oh? That's a good skill to have. I wouldn't have guessed, considerin' what a little thing you are. No offense, though," she said.

"None taken. And, it comes with the job," Miss Pauling said. 

"Oh, there's nothin' better than an Australian shallow grave party! My darling never got on for them much, but you can't blame him—he's a Kiwi. It's why Micky here never got any hair."

Sniper had returned, a few books in tow for Engineer. He sat by his mother again, and she smiled up at him. She reached up to pat her son's shoulder. 

"I kept promising his Australian genes would come in, but they never did. He was so disappointed, too. Like he let down his whole shrine of Saxton Hale memorabilia down—"

 _"Mum,"_ Sniper said in exasperation.

"Oh, but I'm sure I can find someone for you, even if my Mickey doesn't want to settle down just yet."

"Who, me?" Scout said, pointing to his chest.

"No, she was obviously referring to Miss Pauling," Spy said. 

Scout froze in a moment of shock. "No thanks," Miss Pauling said dryly. Scout was so relieved that he lost his balance and his chair toppled over in a great crash.

"I told you that you'd be crashin' over, just like all the other times," Scout's mother said. 

"Oh, of course I meant you, dearie. Are you okay down there?" Sniper's mother said.

"He's fine. His head is so hard, he probably barely felt a thing," Scout's mother said.

"I come by it honestly—" Scout said.

"He got it from his father," Scout's mother said.

Scout pulled himself up far enough to peer over the table at her. "Australian girls are pretty hot, all buff and stuff. I could go for that—"

"Milly's a lesbian, mum," Sniper said quietly.

"Well, that'd explain why she has so many special lady friends come to her camper van," Sniper's mother said airily.

"Then send her over to that one girl down the lane—the one who used to beat my youngest up all the time," Scout's mother said.

Scout crossed his arms over his chest. "Hey, hey, she did not beat up me! I let her win, because it'd be rude to punch a lady, even if she was goin' off and sayin' crap like she was better than me at baseball and runnin'! And she never shut up about it, either!"

"There's even _more_ of you around?" Miss Pauling said incredulously.

"Well, they say everyone has a twin, and sometimes you even get a triplet," Sniper's mother added.

"No friggin' way. I'm one-hundred percent original. People pretend to be like me, because they're jealous of how friggin' awesome I am."

"They ain't related, though anybody who knows them would swear they are," Scout's mother said. She sipped at the tea for a moment. "I used to think they'd grow up and get married."

"Ugh, _maaa,_ " Scout said.

"It was so cute how she used to steal your hats and threaten to bury you in a shallow grave. But she went and started dating Rachel O'Neal, you know the one who used to be in the choir?"

Scout scrunched up his face. "Jerk. She _would_ get a girl before I did."

"Well, they did, anyways. They broke up recently," Scout's mother said.

"Hand me her number and I'll give it to Milly. Back to you, what kind of girl would you be interested?" Sniper's mother said. She had a light in her eyes, like a modern day Emma finding just the right pair.

"Breathin'," Scout said.

"I'm sure I could—" Sniper's mother began.

"That won't be necessary," Miss Pauling cut in, more sharply than she intended to. "To get extra time, he'd have to consult the person in charge."

"So, I'd have to ask–" Scout said.

"I _don't_ authorize it," Miss Pauling snapped.

An awkwardness had settled across the table. No, not an _awkwardness_ , per se. she'd merely made a serious misstep. She was in a room full of mothers, and they didn't miss a thing. They could _smell_ denial on a person. 

Demoman's mother set her cup down so hard that Miss Pauling thought it would break. "I'm blind, and I can still see the sexual tension."

"A green-eyed monster appears, how surprising," Spy murmured. 

"The whatera what what?" Scout said. He looked from person to person in a desperate ply to figure out what was going on. He never was any good at reading the atmosphere, which was half of why he tended to land himself in so much trouble all the time.

There was a silver flask pushed in her face. Demoman had a long reach—or at least, the table was fairly small.

"I don't drink on the job," Miss Pauling said.

"Ye look like you need it. Besides, got plenty to share. The Bombononicon gave this to me as an apology for takin' me eye. It's bottomless, ye see."

What could possibly go wrong? Other than _everything_ , that was. Still, she knocked back swig of particularly strong alcohol, and felt the warmth settle through her.

Scout's mother smiled at Demoman as she poured some into her teacup.

"What a nice guy, and so handsome, too. You must be very proud, ma'am," she said.

Demoman's mother snorted. "Proud? He'll have to lose a whole 'nother eye before he becomes a proper Demoman. A mere _three jobs_ is a shame on the family."

"Three jobs?" Scout's mother said. "That's amazing."

"He'll need to get thirty more before he reaches what his father did on a lean year—God rest his soul."

Demoman had already moved on to share the wealth. He pointedly skipped Scout.

"What, you holdin' out on me or somethin'?" Scout said.

"Ye can't hold your drink, laddie boy. Next time I'll pack some chocolate milk," Demoman said.

"Forget it, your booze tastes like crap, anyways. And for the record? Chocolate milk is friggin' delicious. If likin' chocolate milk makes you a baby, then put me in a friggin' diper and slap my ass because I will go to my _grave_ drinkin' chocolate milk! In fact, screw your disgusting crap!"

A twitch started at the corner of Demoman's jaw. He rose up quicker than expected and grabbed Scout hard enough to send Lt. Bites running to sit on Demoman's mother's lap.

"Screw this, ye little toy boy! _Nobody_ insults my Scrumpy!"

"So, Miss Pauling—" Scout's mother set down her tea cup.

She spoke above the rising cursing as Demoman lifted Scout from the ground by his collar. Scout kicked and pulled at Demoman's hands, to no avail.

"Play nice, boys!" Scout's mother called without looking up from her tea. 

Demoman dropped Scout, who fell in a loud heap on the floor.

"Son of a bitch," Scout said through his fit of coughing.

"Watch your language," she said. "Now, where was I? Oh yes, Miss Pauling–"

"—we're _not_ dating," Miss Pauling said.

The table fell silent.

"Only in my dreams," Scout said with a sigh.

"The lady doth protest to much," Engineer's mother added from the bookcase. Miss Pauling hadn't even known she'd been listening in.

"—Well, I was just going to ask where you got those cute heels."

"Oh," Miss Pauling said. She brushed her napkin across her mouth, though it did nothing to hide the growing pink in her cheeks. "I do most of my shopping at Mann co. I get a company discount," she said.

"Mann co, huh? I didn't even know they sold clothes. I'll have to check it out next time I'm visiting my sweetheart."

Scout's mother tossed down her napkin and leaned down on the table. She looked quite satisfied with herself, as if she'd tricked out a answer to a question she'd never asked; there was something dangerous in her smile, a bit of wile she'd seen too often before Spy turned over a match.

"Ladies, I say we exchange numbers. If nothin' else, we could start a mother's revolution. All of us go in and guilt whoever is in charge until we get our boys back for Thanksgiving and Christmas. What do you say?"

Spy gave her an admiring glance as she pulled out her little red clutch. 

Scout sputtered on his drink. "M-ma! Our bosses are big and probably ugly and _mean_. These ain't no third-rate roughnecks followin' me home from school. They—they're dangerous!"

"Oh, Saxton Hale?" She laughed. "He's a _kitten_."

At this rate, Miss Pauling couldn't tell if Scout's mother had talked him down, baked him cookies, seduced him, or some bizarre combination of the three. Either way, she had to hand it to the woman: she got what she wanted.

She watched as each woman wrote down a number—though Demoman's mother helped with the number as he pulled the paper from Lt. Bites' mouth and jotted it down. Scout's mother pushed each one into her shimmery red clutch.

If the mercenaries' mothers wanted to form some underground group, who was she to stop them? Frankly, she needed all the help she could get to keep the men in line. There was a certain satisfying pleasure in knowing that she could rat them out to their mothers whenever they'd drank too much and caused trouble.

"I'm not hearin' any complaints, Miss Pauling," Scout's mother said.

"I can't complain about what I didn't see. Just give me a copy and I'll forget this ever happened... unless any of your sons misbehave, that is."

"Jeez, I'm goin' to be grounded for life," Scout said.

"That's right, you little hellion," Scout's mother said. She reached out and gave his cheek two little pats. "Now do everything Miss Pauling says, or the baby pictures come out. I got dozens of stories to go with them," she said.

"Ma, come _on!_ "

"I got a long memory, sweetie. Don't test me."

Scout slunk in defeat. 

Demoman took a big chug of his flask. He let out a belch. "Ye wouldn't happen to have anymore jobs, Miss Pauling? I need about thirty more."

"I'll tell you if I find any," she said.

Spy was the only one at the table who didn't look particularly bothered. Of course, if he had a mother, she wasn't able to locate him.

"Rest assured, I'll just report to Scout's mother," Miss Pauling said.

He put his cigarette out with too much force, until it was just a gray smudge, and lit another.

Miss Pauling had a feeling that her job was about to get a lot easier. 

*

She wasn't surprised when she found him in her office again, holding another letter. This one was perfumed and neat, without a hint of food stains.

"It's from my ma. Dunno why she didn't send it to you directly, but here it is," Scout said.

Miss Pauling unwrapped the letter and lifted it to the light of the open window.

_Thanks for the gala! It was a blast, and I was so glad to see my boy again after missing him last Thanksgiving and Christmas. Though I suppose I should warn you, I'm getting my son back for every holiday after this. Spy said I shouldn't warn someone I'm going to be battling with, but you seem like a nice enough girl, so I thought you should know what you're dealing with._

_Oh, and please keep my boy out of trouble—Lord knows he gets into some horrible scrapes. He's given me so many gray hairs, but damn if I don't love the little hellion._

_Sincerely,  
Kathleen Dempsey_

_P.S.: One of these days, I'm going to get you at one of my family dinners, mark my words.  
_

She folded up the letter and put it in her pocket. She had no idea what going head to head with Scout's mother would entail, but she was a woman who apparently had Saxton Hale in the palm of her hand, and Spy would certainly help...

Still, she felt like it would be a disservice to not give Scout's mother at least a little bit of a challenge.

"You owe me," she said.

"I totally do," Scout said. He leaned back in his chair.

"Feet off my desk, and no leaning your chair back," she said.

He stood there positioned in midair for just a second before he pushed his chair back into place. She'd done what even his mother couldn't achieve, which was saying something, as Scout adored his mother. He spent hours of his free time calling her, and felt genuine regret that he missed even the slightest holiday.

So, who I gotta kill to make it even?" he said.

She'd been expecting an offer of a date. Which she would promptly turn down and avoid, of course. She narrowed her eyes. Had he gotten over her already, jumping at the first chance of an offered blind date? Was she that expendable to him?

No, he was still giving her that lovesick puppy stare. She was going to not even give the relief inside her any note. In fact, she was going to ignore it completely, because if she ignored it, it wasn't there.

She pushed a stack of papers into a briefcase. 

"I need these delivered to the center of the base. I trust that you won't open it," she said.

She'd never seen anyone so happy to be handed papers.

"—and I'll need you to keep distributing them for a while. A long, long time, in fact," she said.

He gave her a salute, positively giddy as he slung it over his shoulder.

"Aye, aye. You can count on me. In fact, you don't even need mailmen, or coffee guys, or assistants—I can do everything!"

"No cutting work to help me, though," she said.

Scout put his hands behind his back in a boyish, mischievous way, like he was hiding something to shove down someone's shirt.

"Technically, if it's a job for you, then it is work for the company," Scout said.

She doubted the Administrator would see it that way.

"Well, I'll have more for you to send after the next set of matches....so I'll be seeing you later," she said.

"Aw yeah! Oh, you get lunch? You want lunch?"

She knew damn well that he'd come with the offer of lunch, and she wasn't about to throw him out of her office when he'd gone to the trouble of bringing her something.

"Turkey on rye with mustard. Coffee with milk and sugar," she said.

He looked so pleased, it was like she'd given him a signed baseball, and not just a lunch order.

"A–All right! I'll be back in a flash— _quicker than a flash!_ "

As he left, she could hear him muttering to himself _coffee with milk and sugar, turkey on rye...._

As he left, she began to pen down a letter of her own.

_Dear Mrs. Dempsey,  
As a representative of TF Industries, I must note that all challenges are to be sent directly to Saxton Hale's office, to be returned with a stamped **I'm coming for you, you son of a bitch** form, and membership to Saxton Hales Official Rivals club, with one free serial of _ **Mannly Hunters Quarterly** _._

_As you have apparently already bested him in battle or elsewhere, you should be getting your Rivals Club membership in the mail. It isn't a well known fact, but you may petition Saxton Hale for your son's leave time with your victory, should the correct standards be met._

_Sincerely,  
Miss Pauling.  
_

She set the pen aside and folded the letter to be slipped into the nearest envelope. At this rate, Scout would be going home every weekend, and probably bringing her along, if his mother had any say in the matter.

She had a feeling she'd played right into his mother's hand, but this was one battle she didn't mind losing.


End file.
